


Lasagna, Bandages, and a Bit of Bravado

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-13 15:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Derek always takes care of Stiles, but when he gets hit by a hunter's arrow, it's time for Stiles to step up.





	Lasagna, Bandages, and a Bit of Bravado

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyrrhical (anoyo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/gifts).



> Dear pyrrhical,
> 
> I hope you enjoy this small offering. You gave me a lot of exciting possibilities to write about, and in the end I went for an established relationship in early canon, with a little bit of a role reversal.
> 
> Thanks to v for the beta and to s for moral support.

Derek took care of Stiles. It was what he did.

He'd pumped Stiles full of water and aspirin after his first hangover. Rehung all his plaid shirts while waiting for him to get home from school one cold winter afternoon. Licked his scratches clean when Peter tried to give him the bite. 

It was only fitting that Stiles be there for Derek in his hour of need. 

Fitting, maybe. Possible, less so. Derek was a massive wolf who'd been living on his own for years. Stiles was, well, Stiles. He was skilled at bike tricks, solving puzzles, and math. The day-to-day common sense stuff, not so much. Yet from the way Derek was crouched on the sparse wooden floor of his bedroom squeezing his bicep, his face twisted to reveal a degree of suffering he didn't normally show, Derek definitely needed help. 

"Jesus, you're hurt." Stiles crouched down beside him and tried to pry Derek's hand away from his arm, more than a little nervous at seeing what was hiding beneath it. That wasn't blood oozing from between Derek's clenched fingers and pooling onto the floor, was it? In the dim light of Derek's burnt-out shell of a house, it was difficult to make out. Possibly 911 would be a good idea right now, if only he'd remembered to charge his phone battery before coming over here. He started to sweat. 

"I'm fine," Derek said between clenched teeth. He appeared to be making a gargantuan effort to speak in a level voice. "Why don't I call you tomorrow?"

Leaving Derek alone wasn't an option. Werewolves got up to all sorts of shenanigans. God knew what kind of fight Derek had been in. It was only after nosing his way along a very pronounced scar last month that he'd discovered the kanima had once almost torn a hole through Derek's thigh. Just because Derek healed quickly didn't mean he didn't need help. Now would not be a good time for Stiles to cave in to his nerves. "No, you cannot call me tomorrow. I'm staying right here. What's going on?"

"The Hunters." Derek shut his eyes and dropped his head against the wall. "They came out of nowhere. The arrow must've been laced. I'll be okay in a few hours."

"Bullshit. You don't have to be so tough all the time. Let me see." Derek made no move to comply. Stiles imitated the tone Derek used when he wanted Scott to do something. "Derek. Now." 

Derek sighed moodily, but he turned his arm over to Stiles's care. Stiles leaned closer to examine the wound. It was fine, no big deal, just a little scratch. Some blood, sure, but not — 

"Ugh." Black and white dots clouded Stiles's vision. He ducked his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fainting would be bad form after all that bluster. 

"That bad, huh?" Derek asked.

"Um, nope, nope, better than I thought." Was it normal to bleed this much? "You must have alcohol, right?"

"Corner."

"That's not — nevermind." Best not to protest. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and a clean t-shirt, and set about disinfecting the wound while Derek sucked his teeth and pretended it didn't hurt. When Stiles was satisfied, he shredded the t-shirt in two and wrapped one long strip around Derek's arm, trying hard not to notice how thick his bicep was since this was definitely not the time. Instead, he cajoled Derek, who seemed a little more relaxed now and a lot more pliable, across the room to where his mattress lay on the floor, and covered him with the threadbare blanket that smelled distinctively of him.

"You getting in, too?" 

Stiles wanted nothing more. It was tempting to ease his anxiety by climbing into Derek's strong arms. But he'd have to wait.

"In a bit. I want to pick up some things from my house first."

"Don't leave me too long," Derek mumbled sleepily. He was almost smirking. "Some other cute guy might come try to take care of me while you're away."

Stiles didn't think that was funny at all. "Better not."

Still, he sprinted home through the darkening woods faster than normal. When he opened the door, he was greeted by warmth and light and the smell of onions and garlic tempered through long cooking. His stomach growled and he realized he had not yet eaten. Derek probably hadn't, either, come to that. He snuck by the kitchen and made a beeline for his room, where he packed a hasty overnight bag and shoved in an extra pillow. Most importantly, he emptied his dad's stock of aspirin from the bathroom before heading back downstairs to the kitchen. 

From the sound of the news playing in the living room, Stiles guessed his dad had finished assembling whatever he was baking — lasagna it turned out — and was taking a minute to unwind, hopefully with his customary glass of whisky. Stiles made quick use of the opportunity to pull the mostly cooked lasagna from the oven and transfer a sizeable portion into a storage container. He silently promised to learn how to cook his dad something delicious that weekend.

"Stiles? Is that you?" The armchair creaked in that way it did whenever his father got up.

Time to go. "Derek got hurt and I'm taking him some lasagna or he'll die!" Stiles fitted the lid on the container and shoved the pan with what was left of the meal back into the oven. He beat a hasty retreat out the kitchen door into the dark backyard.

"Hurt? What happened? Should I call it in?" his father shouted as Stiles slipped through the trees. "Hey, no sleeping over Derek's. You hear me? You better text me when you get there!"

"I will!" Stiles shouted back over his shoulder. "Love you, Dad!"

He was out of breath by the time he barged back in through Derek's front door and climbed the steps up to his room. He turned on the desk lamp and was relieved to find that Derek had improved. He was half sitting up on the mattress and even managed to smile without wincing. 

"Still hurting?" From the duffle bag, Stiles withdrew the extra pillow he'd brought and tucked it behind Derek's back. Stiles satisfied himself that Derek looked more comfortable now.

"A bit. Wound is closing up though."

"Honestly a relief. I don't know how I'd take care of a boyfriend who wasn't a self-healing werewolf."

"Oh, I think you'd do fine." Derek grinned toothily. "Not that you'll have a chance to find out."

"Hmf." Stiles dug around in his bag for the aspirin. "Take two of these."

"I don't need them." 

Stiles grabbed a half-empty bottle of water and squatted by the side of the bed. Derek rolled his eyes, but he took the pills. That should take care of the pain until the wound closed up. Now, there was just the matter of dinner. 

"How about some lasagna?" 

Derek hadn't let go of his hand after returning the water bottle to him. "Huh wow, that would be —"

"Don't worry, my dad made it."

Derek looked relieved. "Give me as much as you can."

"And I brought my laptop so we can watch _Point Break_ again while we eat."

Derek ruffled Stiles's hair and grinned. "Lasagna and my favorite movie? I love you."

"What was that?" Stiles crooked his ear forward with his fingers.

"You know what I mean."

"I do?" Stiles climbed onto the mattress and crawled under the blanket.

"Ugh, not with your sneakers on."

"I like you, too, you know." Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek's waist and rested his head on his shoulder. Content, he breathed in deeply before letting out a long exhale. "So...your shirt is not clean."

"I did just escape being murdered."

"It's honestly kind of a turn-on."

"Stiles — "

"Just saying." Stiles tilted his head up. He watched Derek watching him in the warm light until the intensity in Derek's eyes started to make him self-conscious. "I'm dropping a pretty massive hint here. Anytime you're ready. No hurry at all. By all means, take your — "

Derek laughed and kissed him while he traced his fingers along the curve of Stiles's cheek. Yeah, okay. Stiles could get behind this. He snuggled in closer and kissed Derek back. The slow gentleness of Derek's lips expressed what Stiles already knew. After a few moments they broke apart.

"Hey, thanks for taking care of me today."

"Of course," Stiles said, reaching up for another quick kiss. He ran his fingers under the bandage and felt where Derek had taken the hit of the arrow. The skin had almost smoothed itself over in the last hour. Derek was going to be okay. They'd be okay.

Because they had each other's back.


End file.
